With Each Falling Petal
by greenteamoose
Summary: COMPLETE. Because his cursed life is dependent on a lotus, Kanda dies a little with each falling petal. Drabble fic for the Kanda-loving soul.
1. First Petal: Resolve

**- First Petal -  
**

**Resolve**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda loses a bit of himself.

The time the first petal of the lotus falls, Kanda is but a rookie Exorcist. Clutching Mugen in one of his clammy hands and the lotus hourglass in the other, he rocks upon the unsteady tempo of the wagon leaving the Asia headquarters, sandwiched grudgingly between General Tiedoll and Daisya.

At first he thinks it is because of the callous transportation that the lotus shivers and sheds a single petal. Later, huddled in a tent in the countryside of China, he realizes in a cold sweat that his life has narrowed down by one petal.

One less breath. One less moment.

He feels his mind peeling away like dead drabs of skin, flaking into nebulous pieces into the lifeless, humid air. He hears himself screaming silently for no one but his soul to hear; it begins to shatter into countless pieces as though it is attacked by his own Innocence's Kaichuu. He crumbles to the ground and clings at his long dark blue hair, melting himself in the sultry distress spun by his own panic from the depths of his broken soul.

He doesn't want to die—no not yet—there's still so much to do—he's still young—not yet not yet—he can't die—he must—he must—

He must find _that person_.

Kanda opens his eyes, and the mental dissembling stops. Shaking and quivering in spite of the heat, he shakily stands up right.

_That damn priest._

He mustn't die yet. There are still Akuma lurking in the midst of humans out there, and he must kill them all. That person is still out there, and he must search that person out: the one who curses him with the tattoo and leaves naught but a simple flower as a derisive souvenir and constant reminder of his imminent early death.

The boy takes a shuddering breath and steadies himself. He must persevere no matter what. He made a promise to himself, after all, to find that person. Masking his remaining fear, he gives the pink lotus, innocently sheltered in the hourglass, the best glare he can muster.

It would be one of many to come.

Yet the flower merely shimmers as though mocking his very existence, taunting his silly little resolution when his fate has been decided already.

It would be the only existence that would fail to cower under his glowering eyes.

Kanda scoffs and turns away.

What does a lotus know anyway?

Despite his renewed resolve, however, the dangling pieces of his unfurling mind linger in his conscience.

The gentle curve of the single fallen lotus petal sneers.

_You're so naïve._

But he won't die yet. He must not. He steels his eyes, his heart, and his soul and allows himself to let his bright boyhood memories slip through his fingers like sand.

And Kanda knows he has lost a bit of his original self already.

* * *

**A/N**: This will be the first of thirteen drabbles recounting Kanda's life as an Exorcist. Each drabble, which revolves a vague theme, is for each lotus petal that falls. And, as you should know if you're a DGM fan, Kanda's life depends on that lotus. Drabble drabble drabble! Please review.

_D.Gray-Man _(c) Hoshino Katsura


	2. Second Petal: Façade

**- Second Petal -  
**

**Façade**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda grows bold.

At its plummet to the bottom of the hourglass, Kanda is personally surprised at long the lotus takes to shed its second one. Within the several years that have passed, he learns that his curse comes with a blessing: he is able to withstand more attacks and survive even direct Akuma bullets.

He can miraculously do this all with no consequence but one.

"You shouldn't do it again if you value your life," Komui has warned him many times.

Kanda knows each fatal blow upon his body causes his life force—his curse—to deteriorate wound by wound. He has taken Komui's solemn statement to heart, but that never stops him from overexerting and pushing himself to the limits.

And so after each speedy recovery, he tacks on a thicker layer of audacity. After each treacherous battle, his confidence swells and augments his skills.

He grows bold.

At times, Kanda almost feels like he is invincible. He knows he is fast, strong, and talented. Encounters with level one akuma are mere scuffles, and he needs the thrilling excitement of fighting level two akuma to keep him on his toes and stir his blood.

It is a foolish impulsive urge and perhaps over-confidence that moves him to protect that damn moyashi from the Akuma's attack in Martel. His wound from the same Akuma—a result of his carelessness—reopens, and he cringes at the acrid stinging sensation he knows all too well. Blood seeps through the gauge and colors his abdomen like a twisted sort of war paint, and he almost feels his precious life trickling down with the crimson liquid.

"What are you doing?" the blustering doctor cries three days later. "It should take you five months to recover completely—"

"I'm healed," Kanda replies shortly.

He slips on his shirt and stiffly walks out the hospital room. This is how he operates, after all, with a scowl set on his pale face and a sturdy confidence in his healing and battling abilities.

Yet he knows he is not immortal and can still bleed to death like a hapless prey being strangled to the last gasping breath. And he still trembles at the thought that his life is limited.

He is confident, but it is all a façade.

* * *

**A/N**: Hurray! Lots of bowls of soba noodles to skele-gro, Belladonna-Isabella, bloodyredsilver, and Ai Minamoto for reading and reviewing/subscribing.

_D.Gray-Man _(c) Hoshino Katsura


	3. Third Petal: Pride

**- Third Petal -**

**Pride**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda wilts slowly.

Lavi often wonders why Kanda pushes himself over the limit and forces himself to continue slashing, continue fighting in deference of all the bloody slashes on his body. Having known him since boyhood, though, Lavi instinctively knows the answer even without asking him: Kanda must get stronger.

This all comes with a price, of course, and Lavi senses a vague twinge of trepidation in Kanda's heart at the sight of the lotus sitting placidly in the hourglass in Kanda's room.

But Kanda, a samurai of Japan and an Exorcist of the Black Order, is very prideful.

Lavi watches Kanda eat his soba noodles and mask his worries behind his constant scowl. He tests the swordsman from time to time, chiding him with the hated name of Yuu in order to see if Kanda's shield ever cracks.

It doesn't. It never will. Kanda spits and spats and threatens him before stomping away, fuming and preserving his pride. And Lavi merely watches.

All this rushes through Lavi's head as Kanda draws Mugen, faces the bulky Noah called Skin Bolic, and orders the entire group to exit the room as the Ark trembles. Even when Kanda shoots his Kaichuu at them and Lavi is busy dodging the insects of Hell, the redhead keeps his one eye on him. He knows full well that behind Kanda's aggressive behavior is a lonely soul of pride that wants to persevere and become stronger.

But Lavi, though a spectator of Kanda since he first saw him, does not understand every aspect of the blue-haired Exorcist.

He does not understand why Kanda is so desperate to become stronger and why he is so prideful. Perhaps his questions answer one another. Perhaps the answer lies with that mysterious lotus in Kanda's room.

So Lavi merely steps aside as usual, letting Kanda fight for himself. And when he departs from the scene and enters the next room of the Ark, he resists the urge to turn back and give Kanda another look to reassure himself.

Kanda won't lose, right?

He does not fully understand Kanda, but he knows that Kanda's lifespan is trickling away.

Even without being back at headquarters and peeping into Kanda's room, Lavi knows instinctively that the third petal will be making its slow descent to the bottom of the hourglass.

Even without staying behind to witness Kanda's battle against the Noah for himself, Lavi knows it will be a tough, painful one that forces Kanda to proceed fully beyond the bounds of where he has once gone, further whittling away at his soul until Kanda has nearly wilted and is almost drained of all life.

But Kanda won't lose. He never will.

* * *

**A/N**: I love the second DGM ending, "Pride of Tomorrow," which is one of the reasons why it is this chapter's theme. (I also love the most recent ending, "Regret." -hinthint-) And before I sign off here… no one but the great Hoshino knows who "that person" is; I just tossed in a priest for my speculation XD.

Now I hereby grant mounds and mounds of tempura to Ai Minamoto, Azab, skele-gro, Belladonna-Isabella, Kuro666, and bruderlein!

* * *

_D.Gray-Man _(c) Hoshino Katsura


	4. Fourth Petal: Savior

**- Fourth Petal -**

**Savior**

* * *

**Note**: Contains spoilers from manga chapter 150s.

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda grows desperate.

Initially, he thinks he yearns to live for himself to find _that person_. And so he fights for himself: claiming Vittorio in Rome as _his_ prey; ignoring the Finder, Gozu, in the Forest of No Return because the witch is none of _his_ business; announcing Skin Bolic as _his_ opponent.

As he becomes a sturdy young man and masterful Exorcist under the wings of the Black Order, it gradually comes to light that he actually cares for them.

Moyashi.

Lavi.

Lenalee.

Marie.

The other Exorcists.

Komui.

Even the Finders.

_Everyone of the Black Order._

It's surprising. He has always viewed himself as cold, distant, and apathetic save for the excitement of battle, but he has…changed.

As much as he doesn't like to admit it, Kanda is desperate to be the savior and protect those with whom he has formed bonds, both thick and thin. For in order to live, he must form bonds with other people, but by forming such bonds, he endangers his own life.

How ironic.

And yet he does not think when he blocks the slew of Akuma bullets for Gozu or when he rushes to free Lenalee from the grasp of the curly-haired Noah in Edo. When the Level 4 Akuma invades the Black Order headquarters, Kanda does not think when he grabs an ordinary sword to shield Chaoji from being struck by pieces of the falling room or when he parries a blow from the Akuma to protect Komui from being slashed to death.

It is precisely during the invasion of the leering Level 4 Akuma that Kanda realizes how desperate he is: risking his own life for their sake despite the fact that Mugen is still shattered.

_What happened to living for himself?_

In the aftermath of the heated battle against the Akuma, Kanda stumbles through rubble and dust and crowds of people. Reeling from the soreness, the pain, and the heavy loss of blood, he suspects that the fourth petal has now fallen—yet he doesn't want to go to his room to see—all because he yearns to be the savior. Ultimately it is the Innocence-armed Moyashi and Lenalee and General Cross who destroy the Akuma. It is his duty to fight, but he was unable to this time.

His heart tingles with bitterness at his powerlessness.

"Did you hear?"

"I can't believe that's a human."

"That's terrible."

"Does it look human?"

"Tapp…"

"It's a monster."

Hushed whispers prod at his mind, and Kanda spares the murmuring crowd a glance.

Reever and Johnny, grieving with tears streaming down their faces, cradle an ashen man, unrecognizable as Tapp of the science department: one of the unfortunate who were converted into Skulls by the Earl's followers.

"Tapp…"

Sickening remorse creeps deeper into his heart. He closes his eyes and turns away, strangely now wanting to seek refuge in his room where the cursed lotus dwells.

Another loss, another broken bond.

It hurts.

* * *

**A/N**: Eh, all the talk about bonds reminds me eerily of _Naruto_. Yeah. Much happy gratitude to pika318, Ilye-aru, kuro666, RebelFlame, Ai Minamoto, azab, Karush, skele-gro, TheNebulousThey, and Eleannor for acknowledgements! We now head to an unmapped area of Kanda-and-lotus-dom in the next chapter. Actually the manga never mentioned anything about the fourth petal, but 'tis my imagination.

* * *

_D.Gray-Man _(c) Hoshino Katsura


	5. Fifth Petal: Evasion

**- Fifth Petal -**

**Evasion**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda begins to tremble in fear.

In the weeks following the devastating Akuma invasion, Lenalee notices something strange about Kanda. It isn't the size of his tattoo, whose spindly tentacles have spread to his shoulder now, nor is it the effect of the somber cast over the entire headquarters of the Black Order. She can't quite place her finger on it, but she knows it is there, lurking somewhere in the recesses of Kanda's dark soul.

The thoughts drifting about in her head, she walks briskly down the hall and into the cafeteria on her renewed feet. Her violet eyes scan the room, grazing past rows of Finders and a gargantuan mound of food that is Allen eating until she finally finds—

"Kanda!"

He calmly places his chopsticks onto his cup, folds his hands in front of his empty soba bowl, and gives Lenalee an impassive look.

"What?"

"Nii-san is done repairing Mugen."

She puts the katana on the table in front of him with a clatter.

"Hmph. Took him long enough."

Lenalee scowls.

"You should know better, Kanda. The Order has been busy repairing the science department and devising new plans against the Earl. You can't expect your needs to always be first."

"Che."

Without another word, he grasps his blade and stalks out of the cafeteria. Lenalee stares at his retreating back, thinking and wondering before realizing with a start that Kanda has never made eye contact with her all this time. Her mind scrambles to recall past incidents: encounters with Allen-kun and Lavi, interactions with her, and exchanges with anyone of the Order. All starkly limited.

That's it, then: Kanda has been avoiding them more than usual.

Impulsively, she dashes after the swordsman, knowing that he will be heading towards his room.

"Kanda!" she calls. "Wait."

He pauses at, indeed, the door of his room, his free hand already on the handle. For the second time of the day, he turns to face Lenalee with an indifferent air about him.

"What?"

"Look at me," she says sternly.

He remains silently and instead slants his gaze down below Lenalee's eyes.

"Why are you avoiding my gaze?"

"…"

"Answer me!"

"Che."

Brushing aside her demand, he rotates the door handle and steps through the doorway. Lenalee swiftly blocks his progress by snatching the scabbard of Mugen.

"Look at me," she repeats firmly.

Reluctantly, it seems, Kanda slowly turns his gray eyes onto her violet ones.

Lenalee's breathe stops short when she sees the emotion (_fear_?) imbued in his cold eyes, no longer dark slates of steel. Her heart pounding in a stunned rhythm, she prods her own eyes into the faint light of Kanda's room and lingers upon the still-robust lotus sealed in the hourglass. She has seen the flower before, but now there are not two but five petals splayed at the wooden bottom of the case.

_Why are you afraid? Why are you avoiding us?_

She swallows once, trying to form her questions into spoken words while struggling in her own sentiments (_fear_), crystallized through seeing Kanda's emotional leakage.

"Why—"

"Nothing."

"Kanda—"

"Go away."

He jerks his katana out of her limp grasp and slams the door in her face.

* * *

**A/N**: Is there a pairing? No. If you want, you can think of it as Kanda x everyone and Kanda x lotus. (smile) Many blessings to Belladonna-Isabella, tokiya, skele-gro, Sweet Snow2, Halane, Kuro666, RebelFlame, Ai Minamoto, azab, and FirestormAngelBlaze for reviewing/acknowledging. Rock on!

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	6. Sixth Petal: Frustration

**- Sixth Petal -**

**Frustration**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda begins to struggle.

It is so quiet here outside the headquarters. The building is but a shadow in the distant background. Irritations are left behind. A warm breeze sings softly in the empty garden. The brown gate creaks gently. A dry fountain stands as a stone gray icon. Silky flowers and sleek grasses cheer in cheerful tones. Mugen is steady in his hands. He feels the cool, comforting metal of his katana. He relishes the refreshing sensation of the synchronization. It feels almost surreal. There is a buzzing in his ears. Perhaps a result of not being out here for so long? No matter. He trains here often. The garden has long become his companion. Mugen is his comrade too. He is accustomed to the rocks and the wind. There is no reason to stop. It is so peaceful here. He can find such solace in the wild world. He can almost see the willows. He remembers the tranquil lake. The earthy smells. The wafting fragrances. The comforts of native silks. The lilts of village chatter. The firm tatami mats. It is so serene.

_Yet why does his heart pound so wildly?_

It churns and rumbles. A chill shatters the peace. Mugen now feels heavy in his cold hands. Summer is barely here. The breeze deadens into unmoving air. The faint humidity clings onto his skin. Grasses rattle under his moving boots. Gravel crunches in parched cries. Why—why—why—? Nothing is as it seems anymore. It disgusts him. Jagged maple leaves glint in the faded light. The broken fountain will crumble into countless pebbles. Small stones that will cower in the flow of rainwater. And be buried in mud. In hellish suffocation. Nothing more than dirt. Why—? His breaths come unevenly. Revulsion seeps through his soul. Perspiration forms on his forehead. He grinds his teeth. The garden is a stranger to him. All is left is emptiness. He hates it. He abhors it. He does not know every etch of every rock. He cannot read the ebb and flow of the wind. He does not understand his path. He can no longer gather his memories. They burst into untouchable shards. He does not see _the sixth wilting petal_. But he sees _the maple leaves _will not fall—

—yet.

_Whatever_.

* * *

**A/N**: New style: deliberate choppy sentences! My regards of gratitude (and bowls of, um, fried rice) Ai Minamoto, Gowa, skele-gro, Belladonna-Isabella, Dark Mage Makai, kaito142, Kuro666, Ejarel, RebelFlame, kayter, pika318, azab, chocopuff, tokiya, Zogrem, and Maedhros.

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	7. Seventh Petal: Seclusion

**- Seventh Petal -**

**Seclusion**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda turns away.

Yet Allen, as per his nature, still persistently remains at the hospital. Even hours into Kanda's emergency treatment, he continues to pace the halls. And wait. Though his Crown Clown is deactivated, Allen can still feel the heat of exploding Akuma on the claws of his left hand and the numbness in his right hand from excessively swinging his sword. Within the crisp, white walls, he can still feel the pain of witnessing the leveling of the humble village by an army of Akuma and the guilt weighing in his heart of having Kanda rush in to shield him from a stream of bullets.

Allen grits his teeth and sets a scowl upon his usually cheerful face. Who ever asked "Bakanda" to protect him?

"Walker-san, would you like some coffee?"

A kind nurse approaches the white-haired boy and offers a steaming cup of coffee.

"Ah, thank you."

He takes the mug, and the faint fragrance of the drink instantly reminds of the Black Order headquarters. Home. Where he first met the Japanese Exorcist.

"You may visit Kanda-san now," the nurse adds softly.

"Really?"

Allen's gray eyes revoke their usual shimmer as he dashes towards Kanda's room.

"Kanda! Kanda! Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

The said Exorcist's sour face instantly greets his relieved companion. Allen's gaze grazes across Kanda's heavily bandaged chest (did the tattoo look that big before?) and legs and arm cast, not to mention the many slashes that have already closed into small cuts (how much of his life source is left?) and the copious amounts of blood Kanda has shed in the past days of battle.

"What does it look like?" Kanda snaps.

"I'm just worried for you, Kanda," Allen counters, all previous relief and cheerfulness lost now.

"You're always in my way, Moyashi. That's why I get so wounded."

"Wha-… I never asked you to jump so hastily in front of me!"

"That's why I said you're always in my way, idiot Moyashi."

"My name is _Allen_, Bakanda. And I can protect myself."

"Che. It didn't look like it."

"Don't tell me you actually care for me?"

"Who would care for _you_, Moyashi?"

"It's Allen!"

"Shut up!! Do you want to die?"

"Ahh, Kanda-san!" the nurse cries helplessly. "You mustn't move around so much—"

"SHUT UP, YOU'RE ALL SO ANNOYING."

Immediately, Kanda jumps up and furiously strides out of the room with hospital clothes and loose bandage wraps in tow.

"Kanda!"

"Kanda-san!"

"SHUT UP. Don't follow me!"

"Kanda…"

"Che."

Allen watches quietly as the blue-haired Exorcist slams his way out the hospital. He ignores the flailing nurse's wails and slumps against the wall. Kanda's words ring harshly in his ears and seem to impale themselves in his mind. His eyes, just a pair of fiery gray orbs a moment ago, are now dull and lackluster. Stifling a surge of emotions welling up inside him, Allen turns his head away from the door through which his friend just walked. Sadly, he lowers his head and raises his left hand to stare without seeing at the black tone of its skin.

"I want to protect you too, Kanda…" he whispers. "Why… why do you always push us away?"

* * *

**A/N**: Ah, the ever famous "Yullen" pairing. Once again, a big thank you to tokiya, Belladonna-Isabella, Kuro666, RebelFlame, Ai Minamoto, Maedhros, froomball, and skele-gro for supporting my efforts.

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	8. Eighth Petal: Blindness

**- Eighth Petal -**

**Blindness**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda refuses to see.

The twenty-year-old man standing in the mirror in front of him is not Kanda. Even with the same long blue hair, the same cold black eyes, and the same flowing black cloak, Kanda refuses to admit that he is he.

What's with the unsightly tattoo covering his entire left side? Kanda does not know the man with a black mark on his chest. Lengthy, ghastly tentacles creep their way from the central, circular core like black worms lusting for the pulsing warmth of blood. They keep their jaws closed as they wait, patiently and silently, for the opportune moment to strike as they continue to grow and grow. And that time will come when Kanda's tender heart throbs and finally shatters into crimson slivers of gasping veins with the completion of the curse.

Why do his eyes gaze dully with the lack of the steely fire of willpower? Kanda does not recognize those dark orbs that have pitifully lost their glint in the face of the inevitable death of the lotus. They tell Kanda that there is no way to impede the growing menace of curling petals and a parched stem, that Kanda's search for _that person_ and a way to stop his curse is fruitless and hopeless. They tell Kanda to give up the struggle and succumb to his destiny, which has already been etched in unwavering stone and cannot be altered.

Where has all the spilled blood gone? Kanda does not acknowledge his astonishing rate of recovery despite his constant confidence in his sturdy body. There are the faint marks of countless scars across his chest, arms, and legs. Time has hammered the cragged lines away until all there is left is the paleness of his skin, a perfect replica of his original self. No human can plug gushing blood and close gaping wounds as quickly as Kanda's body can, though it is at the cost of his dwindling life source. He actually wishes he has a normal human body and a normal human lifespan instead of the near-godlike status he has unwillingly attained.

Kanda refuses to believe because if he does, he will become that man in the mirror: consumed by that sprawling tattoo, possessor of that pair of glazed eyes reflecting blank hopelessness, and victim of a perfect body with a remarkable healing rate.

Kanda refuses to see, even when the he continues to step into the battlefield and coldly stare near-death in the face and the eighth petal flutters to the bottom of the hourglass, gradually advancing his subconscious transition into the man in the mirror.

* * *

**A/N**: To subaru-kun, Belladonna-Isabella, Ai Minamoto, tokiya, kuro666, RebelFlame, whiteninjaachemist, and azab… I am truly grateful of your continued support; you make me infinitely happy. To those silent readers… I know you're there 0.0, but thanks anyway for taking the time to read my drabbles. Now I'm off to enjoy my soba noodles!

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	9. Ninth Petal: Regret

**- Ninth Petal -**

**Regret**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda wishes for more.

The gentle thumping of Kanda's wistful heart is one of the many sounds that Noise Marie can hear (as clear as bells and as soft as clouds) with the power of his Innocence, but it in fact is that very wistfulness that his ears cannot perceive. Marie only hears this wistfulness as a result of the many years he has known Kanda through their many bumbling travels with their master. They have survived battle after battle (not only of Akuma but also of horrid meals or even lack thereof for days on end) and have gone through such thick and thin that Marie can begin to understand the young man behind the constant scowl and cold eyes.

And so, although Kanda says nothing and retains his usual behavior (shoulders thrown back as he walks proudly and silently, his black katana hanging loosely next to his left hip within an instant from his steady hand) Marie hears and understands the wistfulness that tints Kanda's heart. (_How I wish for more time._) Why Kanda feels this way, Marie has never bothered to ask. It's not his style, after all, him being the tall bulky man who speaks and acts only when necessary yet listens perpetually. The merest quiver of a blade of grass. (Only a bug.) The slightest shift in the trembling winds. (A storm's coming.) And the heartbeat of a fellow Exorcist. (_I'm still alive my heart's still beating._)

And so it is because Marie hears a little gasp (barely detectable, hidden in the gushes of all the gushing blood but still distinct nonetheless) in the rhythmic pulsing of Kanda's heart that the normally stoic man frowns. Are his ears deceiving him? No, that can't be it. Marie's ears have always been right and—yes! there it is again. How strange that Kanda's heart is beating irregularly. (_I wish I could have done more there's so little time left._) Is he ill? They can't have a physically disadvantaged Exorcist on their team now; it will put all of them, not just Kanda, at risk.

And so Marie, being the gentle caring one despite his large rough frame, steps outside his usual persona and directs the question to Kanda when they stop to rest next to a stream. The Japanese Exorcist stares at him (with his usual eyes that glint black steel) while kneeling along the banks of dry cracked mud. Staunchly denying anything wrong with him through gritted teeth, Kanda takes not heed of the water in his cupped hands trickling back to the stream. (_I regret it I'm sorry I should have listened._) Marie quietly listens to the nervous heartbeat while Kanda makes his cold reply. It sounds like a lie. (_No I'm not alright I'm slowly dying._) Kanda has never liked to yield to the fact that he is weaker than usual. Because Marie knows this from all their years of traveling and because he knows Kanda will not take to further questioning, the former Exorcist inclines his head in farewell. (_Thank you for asking thank you for caring but I don't deserve it._) Giving Kanda, still at the water's edge, one last glance, Marie quietly returns to the horse carriage.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks very much to Belladonna-Isabella, Mao, Dark Mage Makai, Kuro666, Ai Minamoto, whiteninjaachemist, pika318, RebelFlame, Z.Zombie, chibi yoruichi, Shinigami's Voice, AmY-DyLaN-SoHiA-aNiKi, Velvet Blindfold, Kitsune no Yuuki, and laFia for reviews and subscriptions. It's been a while since I've updated, so it's good to see you all (hopefully!) again.

As mentioned in the author's note of chapter 3, here I am, incorporating one of my favorite DGM ending songs, "Regret" by Hoshimura Mai. I also thought that Noise Marie, who has been Kanda's "teammate" should have a say in these drabbles. For those who posed requests… no worries! I have also taken them into consideration for future petals. Four more to go!

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	10. Tenth Petal: Epiphany

**- Tenth Petal -**

**Epiphany**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda realizes something.

It starts even before he walks down the circular deserted hallway of headquarters, passing his room again and again yet always ignoring it, deferring from pushing open the door and staring at the ten silky petals lining the feet of the hourglass. His eyes stare through a sort of haze that erodes his consciousness as he puts one foot in front of the other and repeats the same mechanism over and over again.

From time to time, he peers down the core of the tower, taking in the sight of countless stories of doors and doors of Exorcists' rooms and science labs. His steps never missing a beat, he wonders vaguely what it would look like to a passerby if he sits on the railing and suddenly lets go, allowing himself to fall down and down the tower in a blur of black and blue, imagining the poor fool's screams and panicked cries at this submission to darkness. But why fret? Isn't death just another passage of life after all? Is there something after death?

_I never knew you were one to give up so easily_, Daisya states blandly with unusually serious eyes.

Che. Who says I'm giving up?

_You're thinking about jumping down and ending it all, aren't you, Kanda?_

Just your imagination. Now shut up before I slice off your nose.

_Aw, don't say that_, Daisya chides, his humorous attitude returning. _It may not seem possible, but I can read youuu, Kanda-kuuun. You look smug when you do a good deed. You scowl even deeper when you're annoyed. And you appear slightly dazed when pondering something that's as serious as ending your own life right here, right now. Ta-da! Am I right?_

Kanda remains silent and retains his sight on the abyss in the middle of the tower.

_Go ahead, _Daisya laughs, _I'll bet you even my Charity Bell that it's useless._

Che, who would want your damn bell?

The swordsman props himself onto the railing and stares down at the gaping darkness below.

Does dying…hurt?

_Depends how you die_, Daisya replies with a nonchalant shrug. _I mean, if you're being eaten by these evil violet butterflies while being dangled upside down, then yes, it damn hurts!_

Kanda cautiously looks around and, to his relief, sees no one to witness his act.

_Well, well, it seems I'll finally have Kanda-kun to keep me company!_

Don't get cocky. It's just an experiment.

_Geez_, Daisya snorts, _some experiment this is._

Ignoring Daisya's last comment, Kanda grips the railing until his knuckles turn white. He unconsciously slips his left hand onto the hilt of Mugen in a meek search for solace.

I won't feel any pain.

Letting out a slow breath, he gives himself a little push away from solidity and feels the liberation of the air under him, above him, around him, embracing him in all its endearing emptiness and wrenching him down and down into an endless flight past a blur of black and blue—

What is death—

The acrid sting of belching smoke and growling flames materializes from the crisp liberation—

What is life—

The cool tinges of blacks and blues shift into the red-orange of shuddering blazes—

Life is—

Through the swirling heat of the cinders and ash, through the scarlet dust of crumbled buildings—

Living—

He spots an ethereal figure flickering in and out of view—

Wait—

The figure holds a glass case containing a withering lotus—

I want to live—

And looks back and gives a small taunting smile—

I've seen you before somewhere—

Come and get it—

You're—

His eyes snap open to the soft morning light streaming through his lavender window and a Lavi's loud banters from the cafeteria, and he realizes in a surprising surge of refreshing relief—

It is just a dream.

* * *

**A/N**: To clarify, this entire chapter, until Kanda wakes up, is Kanda's dream. In his dream, Kanda is talking to the ghost of Daisya and then jumps off the inside balcony at headquarters only to realize that he does not want to die just yet.

Once again, I'd like to extend my thanks to Kuro666, chibi yoruichi, Belladonna-Isabella, Ai Minamoto, Random, Moon-Dash, 99bottlesofbeer, whiteninjaachemist, Velvet Blindfold, AnimeLover411, Phantom Fox, and azab for reviews and subscriptions. Three more petals to go!

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	11. Eleventh Petal: Laughter

**- Eleventh Petal -**

**Laughter**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda smiles wryly.

It is a perfectly normal evening in the cafeteria of the Black Order headquarters, with white-robed Finders and black-garbed Exorcists chatting softly and having their dinners. Wisps of the scent of fresh food, prepared by the cheerful cook, welcome the scene that many now call home. Rows of benches, seating the relaxing diners, cross the long hall in the midst of a hazy dusk light streaming weakly through the dusty glass windows. Two male Exorcists, clearly friends, one with silvery hair who gazes into the crowd and the other with vivid red hair focused on his bowl, huddle near the corner and hold a quiet conversation.

"Lavi?"

"No, Allen, you can't have my ice cream sundae."

"That's not it, Lavi. It's just… Why is Kanda smiling?"

"WHHAAAAAT?? Yuu is smiling? You must be lying."

"No, I'm not! Look there."

"Ah, you're right! The ever-scowling Yuu-chan is smiling! THE WORLD IS COMING TO AN END!!"

"Lavi, calm down! People are staring."

"Oh, sorry, sorry."

Silence ensues. The redhead finishes the rest of his dessert in one gulp. Stealing a glance at the blue-haired Exorcist (still finishing his soba noodles and sipping his green tea) with his one green eye, he thoughtfully puts his pewter spoon down with a small clatter.

"Maybe someone told Yuu a joke."

"Kanda hates jokes. Remember the last time you told him the one about the parrot and the parakeet—"

"Don't remind me, Allen! I still have the cuts when Yuu attacked me with his sword. It was so scary…"

"That's why you never should have taken advantage of Kanda's confusion with two similar English words."

"How was I supposed to know Yuu couldn't properly pronounce 'parrot' and 'para—'"

"He's approaching our way!"

"OH SHIT, ALLEN, HE HEARD US!"

"Quick! Pull out a book."

"A book?"

"You're the apprentice of the Bookman. Surely you carry around at least _one_ book somewhere. It'll serve as a distraction."

"Good idea, Allen. I never knew the moyashi could have such a brilliant mind!"

The white-haired Exorcist splutters briefly in anger before forcing his attention on the item the other is pulling out of his jacket.

"Let's see… I have _How to Avoid Being Killed by a Sword-Wielding Madman and Live to Tell the Tale, Third Edition_."

"That's good! Now open it and put it in front of both of us before—"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh! Read!"

Tensely, both lapse into a second silence as they clasp the tattered book (held upside down) and stare without seeing at the page in front of them. The Exorcist known as Kanda calmly walks past them without a word or even sparing half a glance. Indeed, a grim smile is plastered onto his gaunt, sallow face in which glassy black eyes, like old buttons, are set above sharply protruding cheekbones. His footsteps slowly recede into the distance.

"Whew, that was close…"

"Lavi, do you think he heard us?"

"Yuu would never let us off that easily if he did."

"But why was he smiling? Even while walking out the cafeteria?"

"Jeryy must have drugged his noodles."

"Lavi, don't joke."

"But didn't you see how pale he was? Yuu's not feeling well!"

"Maybe… that's probably why he just ignored us. He wanted to rest in his room. Kanda recovers quickly; he'll probably be well again tomorrow."

"Something's off, Allen. Yuu has been looking like this for a while. Ever since he and Marie returned from their latest mission, to be exact. But Marie looks perfectly fine."

"Come to think of it, Kanda has been acting strange recently as well… as in being even more reckless than usual."

"Ah, let's not worry about dear Yuu-chan so much, Allen. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"You're right, Lavi. Kanda will be fine. He's… Kanda, after all!"

* * *

**A/N**: After reading Ernest Hemingway's short story "Hills Like White Elephants" (see Iceberg Theory on Wikipedia), I've always wanted to try writing something with purely dialogue with intermittent clumps of text. Which then somehow turned into a crack-ish chapter, at least to a certain extent. Wow… me, writing crack… Pigs should be flying outside your window about now.

While we witness this shocking scene, I'd like to acknowledge Ai Minamoto, pika318, Velvet Blindfold, Shinigami's Voice, koyuki-san, Belladonna-Isabella, azab, maddy midnight, michellehail44, chibi yoruichi, chibi.hazel-chan, Kuro666, and whiteninjaachemist for new/continued support as we head into the home stretch. Two more petals!

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	12. Twelfth Petal: Serenity

**- Twelfth Petal -**

**Serenity**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda falls.

He stands in a dilapidated, broken house lighted with naught but the frail beam of the half-obscured moon. His boots nudge against fallen articles of the building, touching but not knocking aside wrecked tables, crushed shards of glass, burnt clay jars, crinkled plants, and rotting flesh mingled with stringy hair. A low rumbling is all that reverberates across the place in the wary folds of the night. In the far distance, unheard by Kanda, are the cries and clashes of his fellow Exorcists, deep in battle with the enemy and long separated from him when a sudden quake splintered the ground and a gargantuan army of Akuma swept down and around them in a flurry of gray metal and battered rocks.

Now only the steady drone of pulsing infernos is within the realm of his consciousness. It is gentle, even soothing, to the weary swordsman, whose hand barely grasps the smooth hilt of his silvery blade. He blinks, swaying in the crooning notes of the fiery night and feeling the lilting melody of singing flames cleanse him of the blood splattering his coat and face, of the pain of gushing wounds embedded in his chest and abdomen and limbs. The symphony reaches a ringing climax, and in a sudden detonation of angry flames and flying wood, an Akuma crashes down upon him.

"Che, missed one."

He swings Mugen in a swift arc and destroys the demon, who explodes into a creature of splintered metal and fire and joins the blistering harmony of the night. The effort proves too harsh on Kanda's tender body. The barely-healed wounds crack upon once more, being unable to recover as quickly as they once did. Gasping and flinching, he crumbles onto the rough ground and watches apathetically as warm blood seeps through the fingers that he presses against the fleshy gap. He closes his eyes. Even with the mountains and forests of distance between him and the Black Order headquarters, he knows that _there is only_ _one more petal left_.

Allowing a grimace to pass over his smudged face, Kanda knows he definitely has been overdoing it in the past months—no, years. When did he start volunteering for so many dangerous, almost-suicidal missions? Lenalee has constantly pestered him to stop undertaking the tasks and rest; no human can possibly see through so many life-threatening situations, after all! But Kanda again and again has proved them wrong, returning from the latest trip to Munich and stomping back from an Innocence-retrieval somewhere in the Sahara Desert, always fully healed and sometimes mildly injured. Always ignored Komui's wary eye. Always survived, always lived and continued battling, even at the cost of chipping away at his life until he reaches the final point of his curse. Too late to do anything about it now.

His quivering lungs yearn for fresh air now. Forcing his feet to trudge across the scarlet dust of the crumbled building, he manages to stumble his way into the main path of the destroyed village and gasps into the smoky air. The acrid sting of belching smoke and growling flames greets his liberation from the imprisoning skeletons of wood, joined by the red-orange of shuddering blazes. The infernos are no longer tranquil but are now an angry cacophony. They furiously graze at his elbows and ankles, threatening to pull him into their fiery core like ravishing wolves.

The swirling heat of cinders and ash fly into his loose long hair, prodding at his raw flesh and exacerbating his condition. He continues to gasp and choke in the burning air as he coughs up a sludge of blood onto the dusty path and falls to the ground. In the midst of his aching, smoldering pain and crouching on all fours, he feels his heart tremble irregularly like _a petal that hangs pitifully from the wrinkling stem of a lotus flower_. That moyashi won't be too happy at seeing him pushed to such limits, always chattering on and on about how he'll protect everyone. Such arrogance. Not that he's one to talk.

Kanda grits his teeth and forces himself to stand up.

"I won't die…" he mutters. "Not yet… not yet…"

Yet his disobeying legs give way again, and his own determination shatters in a flash of pain, sneering flames, and sandy earth. His misty eyes stare through bloodied wisps of dark blue bangs into the red night sky of swirling cinders and ash and shuddering red-orange blazes. He is strangely reminded of the baka usagi, who flaming red hair is constantly one of the first sights he sees each morning in the cafeteria. Such a nuisance, really, but he finds himself yearning to see the familiar cheerful face and glittering emerald eyes once again, to reassure himself that he is still of this world. Instead, his mouth wordlessly utters unspoken words: _I won't die, not yet… _His consciousness ebbs and flows between worlds of startling red and endless black. Even through the thickening myopia of his mind, Kanda feels a twinge of déjà vu, that he witnessed a similar fiery scene before. But where—?

Another bloodied coughing fit cuts off his crumbling train of thought, and he forgets the strangling frustration and falls onto his back, barely wincing with the impact. Grimly, he notes that his long blue hair, now wildly splayed across the gritty ground, will never again be washed by his long fingers, slathered with bubbly soap suds and amazingly tender for such a weathered swordsman. Never again will he dip his chopsticks into a fragrant bowl of faintly sweet soup and relish in the firmly soft feel of soba noodles. _Never again will he see them again, snap at them, scowl at them, scoff at them._ Never again. He has failed his own mission. The realizations befall upon him surprisingly gently.

Kanda stares unseeingly at the glowing sky of faint stars. His last view of this world. His sight is dimming, dimming. _Soon the last petal will fall._ Seemingly far away, the fires crackle and mask the approach of a solitary figure towards the dying man, the Exorcist known as Kanda Yuu who is falling, nearly falling off the threshold of life and slipping away, falling, falling, nearly falling into a sort of inevitable serenity.

* * *

**A/N**: Kanda…! T.T

Um, to brighten up the angsty mood, here are some tasty virtual rice crackers for namikun masaki, chibi yoruichi, InfinityOnTheRun, azab, Belladonna-Isabella, Shinigami's Voice, Velvet Blindfold, Maedhros, pika318, whiteninjaachemist, MorbidFacelift, Ishikawa Yui, Moon-Dash, Kuro666, AnimeFanAmber, chibi.hazel-chan, nellchan0013, and RebelFlame. Thank you for your subscriptions and/or kind reviews. I hope I did not too rudely shove you into a swamp of angst…

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	13. Thirteenth Petal: Memory

**- Thirteenth Petal -**

**Memory**

* * *

With each falling petal, Kanda—

_Kanda—_

_Kanda—_

_Kanda—!_

Who is that? Calling my name? He can barely discern the litany of anxious voices, so slurred together as though they are lost and entangled in an ever shifting sea, a flurry of uttered sounds yet incoherent syllables. Where am I? Am I alive? He sees in the back of his mind, immersed in darkness, the shimmering image of an hourglass, glittering glass and solid wooden bases, propped up with three gilded gold handles that are intricately carved with ancient symbols as though the relic is something to be cherished. But it is in actuality the flower inside, that silky rosy pink lotus with unfurling and falling petals (now the last one is almost gone), that he both cherishes and… _despises_. You are what makes me suffer for nearly my entire lifetime, you are this hated curse that snatches a bit of my life away from me without my permission, you scorn me, you laugh at me, you taunt me with each falling petal, I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate

_yourself. Didn't you bring this on yourself, Yuu? A caressing fragrance of green tea, mingled with a sprinkle of plum blossoms on twisting branches. Beneath his wooden geta, the grass is soft (and perhaps dewy from a recent rain, but he cannot tell due to the sandal's elevated height). He is wearing a midnight black yukata of light fabric, laced with gentle silvery swirls. The speckled shade is soft to his eyes under the streaming sunlight, and he realizes his hair, still tied up, only reaches his neck. Under the shade of the plum tree, a woman dressed in a sea green kimono, patterned with golden ginkgo leaves and circles, sits calmly with closed eyes and a cup of green tea in her dainty hands, seemingly oblivious to Kanda's presence. He frowns._

_What do you mean?_

_Shock. His voice is not deep but high and lilting. A child's voice? A child's hands? A child's body??_

_Where am I? he continues in growing aggravation. Why am I a kid? Who are you? And what do you mean, I brought this on myself? Answer me!_

_The woman opens her eyes (such glittering, beautiful black eyes! so strangely similar to his own) and plants her calm steady gaze directly upon Kanda. A face of ivory skin and handsome features. Her dark blue hair is tied back with a simple white cloth, leaving a few wisps to trail down her front. She shifts a bit, and Kanda sees that her left hand holds some rosary beads._

_So you really have forgotten, she says softly. The curse has done more damage than I imagined. This, Yuu, was home._

_Home?_

_Yes, our home._

_OUR home?_

_Stiffly and slightly trembling, with an endless stream of questions reverberating across his mind, he staggers away from the woman and turns his head towards the quaint village that he just noticed a short distance away. Patches of rice fields beyond the rows of humble houses. The merest scent of fresh red bean dango. Villagers ambling across the dusty paths carrying sacks or pulling carts. His frown deepens. It all seems familiar, somehow. Something stirs in his mind. _

_This is… he whispers faintly._

_Then it snaps open like a dam releasing an inundation of roaring waters. I remember, I remember, I used to live here long ago as a child… and then came that day… I remember. Flames. Glaring, ferocious flames. Screams and screams of terror. Shrill as cicadas but imbued with raw fear. The acrid stench of blood. Spilled everywhere like crimson paint. Slaughter's canvas. There were Akuma. Yes, a terrifying army of merciless Akuma. But only Level 1! They fired their bullets at every living human in the village. Their ugly gray faces staring blankly into the depths of hell, wholly unaware of all the human despair and suffering they themselves have wrought. Why us? Why our village? How we ran. Monsters! Demons! We must flee. But even those who ran were shot down. Turned into dust. Forever washed away from this world like sea foam. The waves of destruction turned our way. We were helpless, powerless, pitiful. Oh so pitiful. I hated them. We didn't do anything. I wanted something to do. Leave us alone. I want to kill. I want to exact revenge. Let those monster bastards taste their own demise. I want power. Am I just going to bleed to death here, splayed on the cruel ground like a useless rag doll, swept away by the current into the vast ocean of nonexistence? No, no,_

I don't want to die yet.

_Give me power. Give me the strength to protect all the innocent and the ignorant so that no more needless blood should be shed. I remember, a figure, a face masked by long black hair and the night shadows, turned away from all the unforgiving flames. A dainty hand emerges from the long sleeves of the green kimono. I remember… rosary beads. _

_Power, the figure murmurs. The hand trembles ever so slightly. I grant you your wish, Yuu. Grow strong and fight on. There will be repercussions, though, for everything comes with a price. _

_Forgive me… my son._

_I remember, I remember a gentle white light (is that a single teardrop?), then nothing else but loneliness and a blank memory (though I still remember the priest—no, priestess) upon regaining consciousness, welcomed only by a devastated burnt village, my body devoid of any disfiguring except a tattoo, a damp gloomy sky, and a glimmering lotus bud nested in a glass hourglass adorned with intricate carvings. Nothing else. No re-memory of the past until now._

_It was you… mother? the little boy, clad in the black yukata, stammers in disbelief. You… implanted this curse on me and made me suffer?_

_It was the only way to save you at that time, the woman replies steadily, and it was your wish to gain power, was it not?_

_It's not enough… he mutters, his anger wilting at her words. I'm dying, maybe dead already, and I still can't help them out…_

_Them?_

_My… he stops abruptly. Swallows. Tries again: Yes, them. The ones calling for my name._

_Your friends, Yuu._

_He winces at the last two words. The last of which has always had connotations of some unknown pain. Pain that he finally understands now, having remembered it all. Says nothing. _

_One more chance, Yuu, his mother continues, her eyes misting over. I will use all my power as a miko to delay the lotus and give you one more chance. It's the most I can do as a mother now._

…_Thank you._

_Feeling overwhelmed with such swelling sentiments as he has never felt before (or maybe he did, as a young child in the village so many years ago?), he tries to reach out and touch his mother's hands with his own, tries to say something more than a pathetic word of gratitude, but she and everything else disappears, smoke dispersing in intangible silvery strands as she calls out his name once again, filled with such heart-aching wistfulness, such encouragement, such hope._

_Kanda—_

_Good luck—_

_Kanda—_

_my son—_

_Kanda—!_

The bright world surges upon him like a sharp wave, plunging him back into consciousness with wide black eyes staring into the worried faces of the very people (his _friends_) he was thinking about in the fiery village where he collapsed. A strange tingling sensation takes root in his throat and in his eyes and refuses to go away. They are now situated in a tent, most likely set up by Finders accompanying them. Accommodations are simple: lanterns, a few trays carrying cups and bowls, and several bundles of blankets for makeshift beds. It is dusk, as the light is faint and the air is crisp, even in the summer evenings of Rome.

"Oh, Yuu-chan!" Lavi suddenly cries out. "You're alive!"

The redhead is actually sobbing and cuddling Kanda, his tears splattering onto the ragged blanket that covers the latter.

"Baka usagi," the swordsman snaps in immediate annoyance, all former warm relief gone as he attempts to push Lavi away. "I wouldn't die that easily."

"But Kanda," Lenalee interjects, "your wounds were so serious. You were bleeding so much when we found you. Everyone thought you were…"

She bites her lower lip but cannot prevent more tears from running down her cheeks.

"Kanda!" Allen says crossly. Only his right eye flashes; his left one, obviously injured again, is covered by gauze and strips of cloth. Partially exposed through his battle-torn clothes, his left arm shows the black markings on his upper arm.

"You made Lenalee cry again!"

"…che."

Kanda desists from responding when his eyes move away from Allen and finally sees the extent of the wounds of the other Exorcists (_friends_). The still-babbling Lavi (finally pushed away from Kanda's damp blanket) sports several cuts on his face and even a right arm in a cast. Lenalee, having collapsed to the ground in relief, is mechanically rubbing her bandaged legs, and Kanda sees that the blood-red rings around her ankles are trembling, as though the crystal-type weapon is hurting too.

Just then, he remembers the dream (illusion? vision?) he had of his mother and his home village and his regaining his memories. But are those memories even real, he argues with himself. Are they not a mere construction of dream fragments claiming to be his past? Even through the flimsy veil of denial, Kanda knows, through the connection he has gradually fostered with the hourglass, that the lotus back at headquarters has frozen. The last lone petal, ghostly pink with splotches of wilting brown, hanging on the wrinkled stem. Stopped in time for now by his mother's miko powers. He is alive. He will have _one more chance_.

"Say, Kanda," Allen breaks into Kanda's musings, "your tattoo has gotten even bigger now. And you're not healing as quickly anymore."

He looks pointedly at the scraggly black markings on Kanda's bandaged chest, abdomen, and even both arms.

"Your point, moyashi?" Kanda growls.

"It's Allen," the white-haired Exorcist snaps. "Don't be so mad when we're just worried about you, Bakanda."

"That's right, Yuu!" Froi Tiedoll puts in cheerfully, suddenly stepping inside the tent. "Everyone cares about you, so stop being such a sensitive humbug."

The general is accompanied by Noise Marie. Both are seemingly in better condition than are the other Exorcists but are still minimally injured.

"Oh no, not you too…" Kanda mutters under his breath.

"What was that, Yuu-kun?" Tiedoll says brightly, theatrically cupping a hand to his ear.

"Nothing."

"Aw, take that grouchy look off your face," the art-loving general resumes. "This is a very important mission to protect the Vatican and the Pope from the Akuma and the Noah, after all! We must remain optimistic so that we the pawns can defend the king."

"Shishou," Marie says quietly, "I don't think it's very wise to refer to us as chess pieces…"

"Ah, but you're right, Ma-kun. It just sounded so poetic for a brief instant.

"Now," Tiedoll says authoritatively, turning to everyone in the tent, "you had all better get a good meal and a good night's sleep. You need all the rest you can get. Tomorrow's battle will be another tough one."

The Exorcists nod in acknowledgment. As everyone but Kanda leaves the tent, Lenalee turns around.

"I'll bring you some dinner, okay, Kanda?"

The blue-haired invalid sighs and nods, watching the girl (no, she's a young woman now, we're all grown up, grown up long ago actually, and fighting and risking our own lives to protect humanity from darkness and destruction, from the Akuma and the Earl, yes even me) rush off to the kitchen tent, limping as she goes.

* * *

Dull, aching pain. A network stretching to every nerve in the fleshy gaps. Throb, ache. The heart is working, working. He cannot get rid of this bodily wasp. But what is this pain? It's nothing to what humanity has suffered. Pelted by deadly Akuma bullets. Scream, run, flee. Washed away by destruction's wave. A prosperous settlement turned into a ghost town. Fodder for rumors and fears. Monsters! Run, run. Help us! Apostle of God, savior of humanity, bringer of hope. Go, go. Save them! Protect them! Too late, too slow. The tiny hand of a child slips out of his grasp. Cold and still. A fall into darkness, to the flames. No, no, no. Don't go, don't die. What can one Exorcist do? He couldn't save them. You've let them down. So powerless. His recent wounds have not healed yet, but it's nothing compared to the one in his heart. Deep, scarred, and scabbed. Still frothing scarlet. Hidden behind a façade of resolve and pride. Bolstered by evasion and seclusion yet marred by frustration, blindness, and bitter regret. The final epiphany. Is there ever any hope for laughter and serenity?

* * *

Kanda has been in many battles, both individually and those that are wide-scale. The sword fight with Vittorio. The siege of Barcelona. The battle aboard the Ark. But this one, a mission requested by the Vatican itself, for protection against the Earl's imminent attack after drawing all the enemy's to a single location, is incomparable.

The Black Order is losing. He can see the rigid yet fading determination in Komui's eyes, the jaded exhaustion of his fellow Exorcists through endless bombarding of high-level Akuma and occasional scuffles with Noah all across the evacuated city of Rome. Probably now a giant heap of broken wood and rocks. Moral is crumbling. No one speaks, but Kanda, even without Marie's Innocence, can hear almost everyone whispering in their heads, we can't win, we're going to lose, we're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to die.

The underground chamber in which they currently reside trembles from time to time with more explosions from above. Lanterns flicker and cast eerie shadows on the stone walls. An amorphous shape dances on the wall facing Kanda, and he turns to see the head nurse rush to a nearby bed. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her forehead is lightly beaded with perspiration as she tends to the invalid, murmuring words to him. Watching the nurse reapply ointment and bandages, Kanda touches where his own bandages are, wrapped around the healing wounds on his chest. Two days since he last regains consciousness and his past memories. Two days of short recovery before entering the battlefield against the Earl again. Is it worth it, he wonders vaguely. Involuntarily, he tightens his grip on Mugen.

"It has to be me," a voice suddenly rings out in the hushed silence.

"Allen-kun, listen to me—"

"No, Komui-san," Allen states firmly. "I'm the fated Destroyer of Time, right? I have to be the one to fight the Earl. To save the Akuma and help the humans."

"Allen-kun," Komui says in a would-be calm voice, "you can't do this alone. This is a team effort."

"We can't afford to lose any more Exorcists or Finders, and I have to be the one to do it."

"Allen-kun…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Kanda sees Bookman and Lavi standing silently in the shadows of a corner. The redhead shifts uncomfortably at listening to Allen and Komui's argument. A few beds away, herself recovering from a recent Level 3 Akuma encounter, Lenalee is anxiously peering from Allen to her brother.

"I'll go," Kanda says shortly.

"Ehhhhhhh??" Lavi blurts out, causing him to receive a jab from a reproving Bookman.

Allen stares at the swordsman in great surprise.

"You… you will?" he stammers.

"Kanda," Komui says sharply, "don't do this. It's essentially suicide—"

"Don't worry, Komui," Kanda responds coldly, briskly walking towards the Chinese man. "There's only one more petal left anyway," he adds in an undertone once he is closely within earshot.

Komui's face instantly darkens, but before he can do anything else, Kanda grabs Allen and leads his still-shocked companion towards the stairs and the exit to the open.

"Let's go, moyashi."

"My name is Allen, Bakanda," the silver-haired Exorcist retorts, immediately twitching out of his trance.

"Just like old times, eh," Kanda grins wryly, ignoring Allen's comment.

Allen looks at the Japanese man, remembering how Kanda had almost sliced him in half the first time they met, how they had managed to get through their first mission in Matel, how they always bickered whenever they encountered one another. He smiles sadly.

"Yeah."

* * *

It seems like the world is ending. Flames. Flames and collapsed buildings. Whisking, whispering cinders and black ash and scarlet dust. A roaring sky, drained of all starlight and instead punctuated with bellowing smoke and clanking Akuma.

_Ba-thump._

It feels like he is the only one left alive, standing in the midst of thousands of Akuma. Hovering, stampeding, growling, firing. All staring at the lone Exorcist in the middle of a dying Rome.

_Ba-thump._

"How troublesome," Kanda mutters, glaring at the army of Akuma surrounding him.

He holds Mugen in front of him and focuses on further synchronizing with his Innocence. That cooling sensation like liquid ice. It always signifies the exhilaration of battle for him, and that will never change.

"Shouka," he murmurs. "Kinki: Sangenshiki!"

_Ba--thump._

Mugen's third illusion fills his entire being with its power, covering him in a bright light and drastically increasing his strength and speed. Enough to simultaneously take down multiple Akuma. At the cost of part of his life, of course. Once again.

_Ba--thump._

He crouches a little and then pounces forward, slashing through the ranks of the demons with the skill of a master swordsman, hearing their echoing cries with sweet satisfaction, and then repeating his attack. Allen, he hopes, has already gone ahead, evading the Akuma and the Noah to head towards St. Peter's Basilica. The place where the Earl is located, no doubt chuckling about his assumed victory as he celebrates prematurely in the Vatican City's most celebrated church.

_Ba-thu-thump._

He stumbles towards the ground, wincing as the gravel scrapes his cheek and he makes contact with the unforgiving earth. His heart quivers.

"Shit, not again…" he curses.

_Ba-thu-thump._

They draw closer, sensing weakness in the swordsman. Cackling madly, shouting incoherent words of elation at seeing the fallen Exorcist. Charging towards the lone defender of the Black Order out in the battlefield of destroyed Rome.

_Ba-thu-thump._

He sees all of them excitedly rushing towards him, their blank eyes nearly rolling in a frenzy. Stands up, takes his battle stance. Fixes a scorching glower at them. Then he sees everyone, his friends, appear in a blur of black and white. _They came_. For help and support, for the cause of saving their companions and humanity. He grits his teeth.

"No! Don't come!" he shouts.

_Ba-thu-thum-_

His friends stop, puzzled. The Akuma continue their descent. _Now is a good time as any._

"Thank you for everything," he whispers out loud into the Akuma's bellowing, looking straight at his friends. _I have no regrets now. _

Marie, standing tensely a distance away, hears the words, and perhaps even the unspoken ones, and manages to incline his head in acknowledgment.

_Ba-thu-thum-_

Kanda focuses, focuses, focuses, synchronizes, taps into the Innocence and the curse, now, more, more, more, here we go, _the sixth and final illusion, _one he has never used before, _his final chance_. Shuddering earth. Flashing sky. Slashing wind. Infuse with my blade, use my life source, release all the energy, and _bring salvation to the pitiful Akuma._

Then he remembers nothing else.

* * *

**GLOSSARY**:

**geta** – wooden Japanese sandals with the small stilts so that you're raised above the ground a little

**yukata** – traditional Japanese clothing, usually for summer or festivals

**miko** – priestess

**shishou** – master

**Shouka / Kinki / Sangenshiki** – Sublimate / Taboo / Three Illusions (the long-winded name of Mugen's third mode)

* * *

**A/N**: Well, that's that. A big long juicy thirteenth chapter for you to enjoy, with a mix of humor, angst, and bittersweet hope. And allusions. Oh yes, this is chock full of them. There will be an epilogue, so stay tuned!

Thank you a gazillion times over to nellchan0013, ms.swirlyglasses, whiteninjaachemist, Kawaiichibi2345, Shinigami's Voice, pika318, Moon-Dash, RebelFlame, Velvet Blindfold, azab, Belladonna-Isabella, skele-gro, Damatris, Orohippus, namikun masaki, chibi.hazel-chan, Maedhros, Ishikawa Yui, Kuro666, se-tar, leriko, and all those silent but existent readers. You make me feel warm and fuzzy.

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) Hoshino Katsura


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

A sunny June day. Nearly five years since Allen Walker, the Destroyer of Time, fulfilled the prophecy and killed the Earl. Nearly five years since Kanda Yuu, the skilled katana-wielding Japanese Exorcist, unleashed Mugen's final power and swept away all the Akuma in the vicinity, taking the weakened Noah with them. Gone like sea foam. Washed away into the sea of nothingness. For no one had managed to find Kanda's corpse among the rubble of stone and festering metal.

Rome, being the battleground of the final stand between the Black Order and the Earl, had virtually been completely destroyed. While Italy's capitol was being rebuilt, the Vatican moved to France, temporarily staying in Avignon's Palace of the Popes. The Black Order, rendered obsolete, was disbanded after a tearful farewell party (for the occasion, Komui had specially built a super ultra deluxe version of Celebratory Komurin VIII, which had somehow become berserk and then crashed the party). Many of the Exorcists, Finders, and scientists returned to Rome to help in its reconstruction, while Bookman and his apprentice Lavi, having no more purpose to remain with the former Exorcists, left to continue their recording of unwritten history.

And it is on that day in June (the kind that seems to preen and flounce its glorious sunshine on a celestial canvas of azure and fluffy white) nearly five years after the war ends that Bookman and Lavi arrive at Edo. Like Rome, Japan's capitol is in the process of being rebuilt, albeit at a slower pace due to the meager population of slowly-returning Japanese. The new Edo is a ghost of its former glorious self: stubby pagodas with exposed wooden skeletons; hastily-constructed shacks along the dusty paths; murky rice fields with intermittent green patches; citizens ambling around in ragged clothes, though some are slightly better than others'.

Lavi notes all these sights and imprints each detail into his memory. He and Bookman have parted for the day in order to cover more ground, but the redhead yearns for some company. Despite the requirement that he, the future Bookman, cut off all relationships, he frankly has been missing his old friends and cannot help wondering how they have been faring in the past years.

"Ahh, so boring," he mutters, betraying the silence he is supposed to maintain as he trudges down the rows of building.

Lavi sees a dozen or so customers chatting quietly in a teahouse and eating dango while fanning themselves, probably taking a break after an arduous morning. Across the path, an old man, his wispy gray hair tied into a top-notch, patiently cleans a pot out of the assortment of clay pottery he is selling in a nearby store. He looks up momentarily when Lavi passes by and sends a puff of dust in his wake. Next to the shop, a long-haired blacksmith, dressed in a black sleeveless jinbei with his back facing Lavi, is hammering a long piece of scorching-red metal with his anvil. The Bookman apprentice is about to pass the blacksmith without a second look when the blacksmith turns a little. Something seems familiar about him… Lavi stops abruptly and gapes at the man, who is dousing the metal in a small pool of water, completely unaware of his rapt observer.

"Yuuuuuuu-chaaaaan!!" Lavi suddenly yells in sheer happiness. "Is that you??"

The blacksmith turns around suspiciously (yes, Lavi shouts, it's the same scowl, the same feminine face, the same, the same, the one and only Yuu-chan!) and stares at the exuberant redhead, jumping madly in his brown traveling robes and attracting many whispers and looks of sympathy (or, in some cases, bewilderment) at his apparent insanity.

"Yuu," Lavi breathes after reaching the blacksmith and finally calming down, "so this is where you were all this time! You're alive! Why did you go without saying a word? We all miss you—especially Allen. He was devastated when we couldn't find you, you know, and poor Lenalee was bawling her eyes out. Bookman and I are just passing by Edo, but you really should go to Rome and apologize to everyone for running off like that. Such a prideful, arrogant jerk you are, Yuu! I would strangle you to death, but since it's been nearly five years since we last saw each other, I won't do anything—"

"Che, you wouldn't dare," the blacksmith growls (the same grouchy voice, Lavi nearly cheers), his black eyes flashing. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

Lavi, once swelling with such exhilaration, now suddenly deflates. His heart pounds hollowly.

"What… what do you mean, Yuu?" he says in surprise. "I'm Lavi, your friend from our Exorcist days."

Even through his shock, however, Lavi does not see the look of recognition in Kanda's eyes. But why? Why doesn't he recognize Lavi?

"Friend? Exorcist? I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I don't have any crazy red-haired friends like you, baka. And don't call me by my first name."

"Eh? But…"

"Get out!"

"Wait, Yuu—" Lavi begins, flailing his arms as he is dragged out into the open.

"It's Kanda! Now get out of my sight!!"

And so Lavi is shoved out of the building and tossed into the middle of the gathering crowd of curious onlookers. Muttering in annoyance and rubbing his arms in pain, Lavi sits up and finds himself looking right into the scowling face of his master.

"Eh, hello Panda-jiji…" Lavi grins sheepishly, rubbing one hand behind his head.

"YOU GREENHORN!" Bookman roars, kicking the poor redhead out of the startled crowd. "How many times do I have to tell you to NOT interfere?"

"Ah…"

"Stand up!" Bookman snaps, grabbing the scuff of Lavi's robes. He sends his apprentice flying again with amazing fortitude, considering the height difference between the two. "We're getting something to eat."

"Eh, okay…" Lavi replies meekly, still smarting from being tossed around thrice in a row. He certainly does not want to experience it four times in a single day.

* * *

"Panda-jiji," Lavi suddenly says in the middle of their meal (miso soup and rice balls with a side of mitarashi dango and hot green tea to drink). "That definitely was Yuu I saw. Why does it seem he has amnesia?"

Bookman puts down his dango skewer thoughtfully. A frown creases his wrinkled brow.

"I have heard of many strange cases of curses," he begins. "In Kanda Yuu's case, his curse is one that gives him extraordinary healing powers in exchange for part of his life."

Lavi nods in understanding; Komui, one of the very few to know about the tattoo and the lotus, had explained Kanda's curse to the Black Order. Needless to say, everyone had been shocked to learn about Kanda's apparent sacrifice. It was then that Kanda's strange last words were made clear to Lavi: _There's only one more petal left anyway._

"When we saw him earlier today, I noticed that the tattoo markings that had spread to his arms are now gone. In this case, from what history tells us, I can say with high certainty that his curse has completely disappeared."

"What about his memory loss?" Lavi persists.

"This is all hypothetical," Bookman responds. "Most likely, somewhere, somehow, Kanda met the one who placed the curse on him. He might have made a deal with his curser, and then exchanged his cursed, shortened life with his memories. Such a risky move could jeopardize the powers or even the life of the curser. Or it could be a strange phenomenon," Bookman adds as an afterthought at seeing his apprentice's brooding face. "We can never tell with curses."

"Sacrificed himself," Lavi says in an undertone to himself. "Lost not his life but his memories of the Black Order."

The redhead gives a heavy sigh and runs his hand through his hair. Either way, it is a situation that he does not like. Who is going to angrily chase after him, waving a sword, and calling him _baka usagi_, after all?

"Lavi," Bookman says sternly, breaking into his apprentice's thoughts, "everything in life, especially with curses, comes with a price. Humanity is stupid and pitiful, but we do our job and record unwritten history. Don't forget that Kanda Yuu is merely a single soul in this endless string of events.

"He is only ink on paper, soon to be forgotten… just like you and I. Never forget that, Lavi."

Lavi nods expressionlessly, for he knows that is the truth. Deep inside, however, he thinks to himself, _Yuu maybe only be ink on paper, but he will forever be the nameless hero who won this war._

_And our good friend._

_Thank you._

He smiles.

* * *

A short distance away, along the outskirts of Edo, a lone figure carrying a katana crouches in the middle of a field of frail grass sprouts, bathed by the soft moonlight. Kanda stands up after his sword practice and sheaths Mugen, its blade glinting silver, before sneezing. Rubbing his nose, he scowls in annoyance but decides to brush it away. No one could possibly be talking about him. Unless it's that crazy redhead who approached him today.

"That baka usagi," Kanda mutters.

He stops in the middle of his walk back home, surprised at the phrase that flowed so smoothly out of his mouth. Now that he thinks about it, the redhead does look a little like a rabbit…

Che, such triviality, he scoffs. His past means nothing to him now and is merely a blank slate. He resumes stomping back to his dwelling, but despite his resolve to not linger upon the issue any longer, Kanda finds himself inexplicably smiling.

**FIN.**

* * *

**GLOSSARY**:

**jinbei** – traditional Japanese clothing worn by males during the summer

**mitarashi dango** – Dango is a Japanese dessert that is similar to mochi and seems to be a favorite of Allen's. The dumpling is made from rice flour and contains a sweet substance. Three or so dango dumplings can be stuck to a skewer. Mitarashi is a dango syrup made of soy sauce, sugar, and starch. Yum.

* * *

**A/N**: Finally, we're at the end of "With Each Falling Petal!" I couldn't bear to write off dear Kanda as dead (plus, that'd be too predictable), so I came up with this.

Thank you very, very much to pika318, namikun masaki, Shinigami's Voice, whiteninjaachemist, nellchan0013, Phantom Fox, Belladonna-Isabella, Yume Li, se-tar, whitelanc3r (especially for reviewing on every single chapter in one shot!), ms.swirlyglasses, Kawaiichibi2345, chibi.hazel-chan, Velvet Blindfold, RebelFlame, Tears of Eternal Darkness, azab, Ishikawa Yui, byebyebyrdie, and silent readers for continuing to support me throughout the course of writing this fic. You always make my day with your reviews, which have really contributed to inspiring me to continuing to write. (deep bow)

Happy reading/writing, and I hope to see you around more DGM fics in the future!

.moose

* * *

_D.Gray-Man_ (c) the great Hoshino Katsura


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